Chapter 49 Francesca
Francesca
The men’s voices float up the stairs for a handful of seconds before they disappear into Carlo’s office . Why is my bodyguard here so late? What’s happening that I don’t know about?
Despite the hour and my mental exhaustion, I pull on a sweater and jeans and slip down the stairs, uncertain what I should do.
My phone buzzes, an unknown caller. Is it Harper? Something tells me it’s not. “Hello?”
“Stop at the diner where you met Maeve on the way to class tomorrow. Tell your watchdog you need coffee. I’ll be waiting.”
The call ends before I can reply to my brother. What does he have in mind now? How many more secrets do I have to divulge tonight?
“Francesca, I said to wait upstairs for me.”
Startled by Carlo’s voice behind me, I jump. Faro looms behind him, looking intensely agitated. I can’t tell if he’s furious or excited about something, but I worry it’s nothing good. My breath stutters in my lungs. “I… I was worried about you.” And worried about me.
My husband smiles, a momentary softness sneaking past his cold mask. “I need to go out again tonight. Faro will take care of you.”
Does he mean Faro’s here to guard me or ‘take care of me’ in another way? Am I going mad? Carlo didn’t know about Harper until I told him. Or did he? He doesn’t know that Ronan called. Or does he?
His thumb presses gently against the inside of my wrist, sending a shiver of both longing and fear slicing through me. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine,” he murmurs.
He starts to walk past me. It’s not unusual for Carlo to leave the penthouse without kissing me goodbye whenever any of his men are in the same room, but I can’t help questioning if it’s a bad sign tonight. I wanted another kiss, a last kiss maybe.
Everything breaks over me at once, all the years of being judged for what Da did, all the questions in their eyes, all the secrets I harbored trying to help or protect others or simply trying to get my way for once, I crack under the weight of it all. I can’t handle it anymore.
“WAIT!” Like a mad woman, I grab his hand, prepared to sink to my knees if necessary. “Don’t leave me tonight. Please, don’t leave me with him,” I whisper, imploringly.
Carlo’s brow furrows. Questions swirl in his dark eyes but something else does, too, something tender. He glances at Faro before giving him some non-verbal sign. Am I about to be dragged away? No, Carlo cups my face as Faro disappears into the elevator.
“You’re afraid of him?” Helplessly, I nod.
“You don’t have to be afraid of my loyal men.
” I tremble, fighting back tears, and Carlo’s expression softens even more.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Red.
Not ever.” He carefully kisses my cheeks, eyelids and lips.
“I’d burn and maim to keep you safe. I’d torture and kill in your name.
I’ve already told you I’ll never hurt you with these hands, but no man who answers to me would dare do so either. ”
Drawing in a ragged breath, the last of my intense fear ebbs away when he says, “I can’t leave you unprotected here, but you can come with me if you want. Perhaps you were meant to come with me tonight.”
I lick my lips, trying to make sense of his words as my pulse grows marginally less erratic. “Wherever you’re going, I want to go, too.”
***
A short time later, we pull up to a warehouse on the river – Red Hook. Remembering Aurora’s description, a bone-chilling sense of dread fills me. But not for myself. Renato waits at the guard shack with two armed men. “Why did you bring her here?” he asks Carlo, puzzled.
“She has a right to see him.”
Renato doesn’t acquiesce to his older brother’s reason right away. “She’s a girl. It might be hard for her-”
“She’s my woman, my wife, and she’s had to be fucking strong in more ways than you know. She deserves to know, to see. Now, let us pass and say no more.”
The gate lifts, and Carlo parks the car.
He holds my hand as we walk across oily black puddles in the parking lot, a remnant from an evening shower.
The rusty metal door screeches miserably when he heaves it open, and he helps me step over the lip.
Inside, a hymn of horror seems to cling to the dingy walls.
A cavernous space, the warehouse is filled with shipping containers and smells of rot and urine.
In the far corner, there’s a large cage bolted into the wall with a single lightbulb hanging over it, maybe six by six by six in size.
A man lies inside it on the cold and dirty concrete floor wearing a silk bathrobe with a busy, obnoxious pattern. The robe is incongruous for the surroundings, something tacky but expensive that doesn’t belong here. The man appears to be unconscious. His red hair is streaked with white.
Carlo’s arm loops around my waist, his warmth and clean, masculine fragrance a welcome reprieve from my troubling thoughts.
He murmurs huskily in my ear, “There is a stage.” He gestures toward a raised platform at the head of the room.
That must be where the Tribunals, inductions and less savory public spectacles of the Trio are held.
“And there is the rat in his cage, preparing for his performance.”
Shocked to my core, I gaze at my husband and then back at the man he’s pointing at. It’s my father, of course. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him at once. “Where has he been all this time?”
“Western Pennsylvania, under a false name in a little town with a steel mill and a handful of Fentanyl addicts. He had a young mistress, not much older than you, but she was more than happy to give us the extra intel we needed to catch him in exchange for some easy money.” My nose crinkles up in distaste at the picture Carlo paints, knowing it’s no lie.
“He was seconds away from being tossed out of Witness Protection, whether or not you’d agreed to help the FBI. ”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“I know. You’re nothing like him. You’re kind and selfless and loyal, Francesca. Two traits I admire but don’t possess and one that I do.”
“You’re kind to me. You can be selfless.” He smiles as his finger slowly traces my jawline. He stares at me like I’m some mysterious wonder. He has for quite some time now.
When his eyes flit back to my father, they sharpen with hate. “For years, I’ve wanted him dead. I’ve longed to avenge Beppe and Faro’s father and every other man he ratted out. But now…”
“What now?” I prompt.
“I wanted to see him tonight once I learned we’d captured him. I’d planned on telling you in the morning but perhaps this is for the best. You deserve this choice. What do I do with the rat in the cage, mia moglie?”
“I don’t understand. Why are you asking me?”
“Because he’s your father and, in many ways, your family suffered the most from his betrayal. Your brother was nearly killed for it. Your mother was nearly broken by it.”
I can’t argue with him. We suffered.
“And you, my sweet wife… I want to chop off his fingers, one knuckle at a time, for every time he raised his hand to you. I want to pluck out his eyeballs, slowly, for all the times you felt unkind eyes turned your way for what he did. I want to watch him choke to death, a dead rat stuffed down his throat, for the hurtful words he must have said to you as a girl. But he’s not my father.
He’s yours. What do I do with the rat, Francesca? The decision is yours.”
I’m thunderstruck by the enormity of Carlo’s gesture. Glancing back at the door behind us, I try to make him see why I can’t make this call. “A traitor of this significance, they’ll expect a public execution.”
“They’ll expect it, but they’ll accept their Don’s decision. And even if you tell me to set the rat loose, I’ll handle the ensuing shitshow that causes, too.”
Shaking my head, hardly able to believe him or what I’m hearing, I take a deep breath and decide on the one thing I want from my father - closure.
“I want to talk to him first. I want to look him in the eye and know why. Then you can do whatever you think best, for us and for the Trio, and with my blessing.”